Fire and Ice (Ice 5)

He rolled over on his side, turning away from her, but the scent of almonds on his own skin was almost enough to get him to go shower again, this time with dish soap. But he didn’t need to. The day that he couldn’t control his need for sex was the day he was in big trouble. He could lie a few feet from Ji-chan and forget all about her. Or die trying.

She was never going to get used to sleeping on a futon, Jilly decided as she slowly opened her eyes to the shadowy apartment. Her entire body hurt, though part of that might be from the endless sprint away from the yakuza compound. She pushed up from the mattress, then realized her robe had come apart, revealing far too much of her breasts. She yanked it together quickly, peering around the darkened apartment for signs of life. Had Reno left her once more?

And then she saw the shape lying on the tiny patch of floor in the kitchen area. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking the bright hair, and the thin blanket draped over his long, lean body. He was lying on the floor, which had to be even worse than a futon. He’d probably rather lie on a bed of nails than have to be close to her, she thought glumly. She should be grateful, not miffed.

“Go back to sleep.” His deep, sleepy voice came from the kitchen, even though he hadn’t moved.

“I can’t.”

He turned, lifting his head. “I don’t think you want me to come over there and help you out again, do you?”

The apartment was cold, but heat ran through her body. She didn’t want to think whether it was from embarrassment or something else. She lay back down on the futon, shifting uncomfortably, the robe held tight around her, and closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing.

Clearly Reno, or Hiromasa Shinoda, didn’t believe in central heating, either. She could see her breath in the darkened room, and the thin cotton wasn’t much help. She could always put on her clothes again, and she would if she had to, but she’d run from the compound in nothing but a thin T-shirt that had been soaked with sweat by the time they’d gotten into the taxi. She’d been wearing the same pair of jeans since she left L.A., and her clean underwear was somewhere back at the compound with her backpack. She wanted clean clothes, she wanted a soft bed, she wanted Summer. And she wasn’t going to get any of those things, so she might as well get over it and—

“Enough,” Reno said, sitting up and throwing off the thin blanket. It pooled at his waist, and he was naked from the waist up. Jilly knew she was in even deeper shit than she’d thought.

He was freaking gorgeous. His chest was smooth, lean and muscled, his stomach flat, and if she had even half her mother’s gifts, she’d crawl over there and lick him.

Another flash of heat. Maybe if she just kept thinking random, embarrassing thoughts she’d keep from freezing to death.

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?” she protested. “I can’t help it if I can’t sleep.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

She could have been foolish enough to ask him what he meant, but she didn’t. Looking at him as if he were a rare steak and she was starving. Looking at him as if he were a box of Godiva and she was a chocoholic. As if she were a drunk confronting a bottle of ancient Scotch. Like a stupid, semivirgin in love with the worst choice she could have made.

It wasn’t as if she’d had any choice in the matter. If she had, she wouldn’t think twice about him. But some things weren’t up to her. She’d taken one look at him, years ago in Genevieve Madsen’s garden in Wiltshire, and she’d been a goner. Familiarity, while it was breeding contempt, wasn’t helping much with the lust part.

Which was actually rather reassuring. She’d been so disinterested in most of the men and boys she’d seen that she’d wondered if she were frigid or simply asexual. The moment she saw Reno again she knew that wasn’t her particular problem.

Her problem was Reno, pure and simple. Though there was nothing pure and simple about him.

He shoved the blanket away and stood up, and Jilly let out a shriek. He was practically naked, all long, lean, gorgeous six feet of him, except for a strip of cloth wrapped strategically around his hips. It was the sort of thing she’d seen on sumo wrestlers. It looked a hell of a lot better on him.

“Close your eyes if you’re embarrassed,” he said, picking up the discarded blanket and tossing it to her. She resisted the temptation to pull it over her head. Except that she couldn’t look away.

He looked alien, golden and savage, and the tattooed dragon snaking down one arm simply added to the effect, running from his shoulder down to his wrist, in vivid colors of red and gold. He strode past her, magnificent, and while she shouldn’t have done it, she couldn’t help but look as he walked past. He had to have the most gorgeous butt in the world.

She let out a quiet moan and buried her face in the blanket he’d tossed at her. And then quickly lifted her head. It smelled like the almond soap she’d used in his bathroom. And it smelled like his skin, something indefinable and unquestionably erotic. And at this point she’d be better off walking straight into a trap of yakuza thugs than spend another minute fantasizing about her unwilling protector.

When he came out of the bathroom, he was dressed again, in black pants and a loose white shirt and black jacket. She couldn’t stop from wondering if he was still wearing that strip of cloth under the clothes or whether he’d gone to more traditional boxers. He didn’t strike her as the tighty-whitie kind of man. Or maybe he wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“It’s called a fundoshi,” he said as he headed back into the tiny kitchen alcove.

“What is?”

“The piece of cloth you couldn’t keep your eyes off. I’ll tell you what—we get out of this alive and I’ll let you take it off me. With your teeth.”

Her temperature went up another five degrees. “You are such a jerk,” she said. “Use your own teeth.” It came out sounding ridiculous, of course.

He just laughed. “Behave yourself and I’ll make coffee.”

Okay, all was forgiven. She’d rip the freaking fundoshi off him with her teeth in return for a strong hit of caffeine. “I don’t suppose you did anything about getting me some clothes.”

He looked at her over his shoulder, and there was a surprisingly wicked light in his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind showing you how to wrap a fundoshi,” he offered.